


Spare the Rod

by catawhumpus (ironmermaidens)



Series: Crown AU [2]
Category: Hermitcraft
Genre: Anal Sex, Breeding, Derogatory Language, Hand Jobs, M/M, Master/Pet Dynamics, Mpreg, Multi, Oviposition, Praise Kink, Pregnancy, Threesome - M/M/M, compulsion to obey commands, hc crown au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28594794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironmermaidens/pseuds/catawhumpus
Summary: The King and Queen make their Consort carry a heavy burden for them.
Relationships: Python/Evil X/Wels
Series: Crown AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000731
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	Spare the Rod

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place, at the time of posting, between Mind Games and A Moment of Weakness.

He knows something is different from the moment his Queen fetches him from the baths. His Queen did not fetch him from the baths. It was the attendants' jobs to escort him to his King and Queen's bedchambers, or his own. It makes him shiver in anticipation, the way Python leads him forward with a firm hand to the back of his neck, makes his skin pebble with gooseflesh. _Different_ did not mean bad. It didn't mean good, either.

Wels is already waiting for them in their bedchambers. He sits cross legged in the middle of the bed, back straight and nose turned up in a sneer as always. He watches Evil X, examines him, and Evil X realizes then that it was not a sneer he was seeing, but cunning calculation. He was not so stupid as to think his King and Queen did not plan to use him this night—the attendants had paid special attention to prepare him for such things—but he swallows a lump down anyway. This time will be different. He just hasn't figured out how, yet. 

"Lay down, Consort," the King says, patting the duvet condescendingly. "On the bed."

Python's hands slide down his shoulders, slides the robe he wears down with them, and he steps out of the safety of its folds into vulnerable exposure. Hardly the first time his King and Queen have seen him like this, yet his face flares hotly all the same. He marches towards the bed stiffly, and his cheeks burn hotter at the disapproving sound Wels makes in response. 

Evil X sits at the edge of the bed, his heart thudding at the velvety duvet against his bare skin. He closes his eyes and leans back onto his elbows. He feels the presence of Wels behind him, and he realizes that when he lays flat his head will rest in the King's lap. 

"Consort," his King warns, and finally he lets his orders take him, laying back until his head is supported on his King's calves, between his King's thighs. He glances up and his crimson eyes meet the King's cool blue. He lets out a shaking breath. The King's fingers stroke his hair, and it makes his belly flutter nervously.

Wels breaks eye contact first, and as he does Evil X feels hands gliding along his thighs, stroking up so tantalizingly close to where they join his torso before moving back down again. The hands hook under his knees then, lifting his legs until his feet rest on the edge of the bed. Python always preferred a more intimate approach to dealing with their Consort. Rarely did he resort to the coldly issued orders that Wels commanded with. It almost felt as if they were lovers. It makes Evil X's stomach churn. 

Python's hands continue to massage up and down the back of his thighs, and Wels takes this as his cue to join him, his hands traveling down Evil X's arms, thumbs pressing into his biceps. Evil X's eyes slide shut at the gentle stimulation. The King never touches his Consort this gently. He wonders what the special occasion is. When the King's fingernails scrape back along his triceps in perfect time with the Queen's fingers on his thighs, he can't help the breathy moan he lets out in response.

"Good boy, Consort," his King says in a low, sultry tone, one he usually saved only for his Queen. His hands find their way to his Consort's shoulders, to the base of his neck, until his long fingers rest under his jaw, featherlight against his Adam's apple as his thumbs massage little circles into the Consort's skin just behind his ears. Evil X can feel another blush burning across his cheeks. "Good boy."

As Wels continues his ministrations, Python's hands change course to give Evil X's ass a squeeze. He jumps, and feels Wels's fingers twitch around his throat in warning. Evil X let's his breath out slowly, relaxing in his King and Queen's hands until he is utterly boneless between them. It only lasts for a moment before he feels one of his Queen's digits trace circles around his entrance, and his brow is furrowed once more with tension. Neither the King nor Queen seem to pay him any mind, and soon he feels the digit pressing into him, sliding into him easily after the preparations of his attendants. 

They had been thorough with him, having long since learned how rough his King and Queen liked to play with their Consort. That never stopped Python from checking their work, as if he was the one preparing their Consort to be speared on his cock. He adds a digit alongside the first, and another moan slips past the Consort's lips as they begin to pump in and out of him, pressing and curling and spreading wide. He moans again when he hears a chuckle from Python, whimpers at the way Python twists his fingers inside of him, and bucks his hips back to chase after them as they retreat. 

"Look at me, Consort," Wels says, and Evil X's eyes fall open, blearily adjusting to the dim light until he can see his King staring into his eyes once more, head cocked to the side almost curiously.

"My King...?" He asks. His King responds by leaning down and pressing his lips to his Consort's. Evil X blinks. He feels his King's tongue insistent against his lips, a silent demand to open up, and lets his eyes drift closed again as he complies. He feels his King's tongue against his own, exploring his mouth hungrily and tilts his head back to allow him to deepen their connection. He feels something nudge against his bottom, at his entrance, and gasps into his King's mouth as the head of Python's cock presses into him now. The gasp becomes another broken moan as, in one motion, the Queen buries himself in the Consort up to the hilt. He feels the King smirking, and feels his breath being stolen by another kiss. 

The Queen wastes no more preamble, pulling out before thrusting back in, another deep stroke slapping against the Consort's ass and making him gasp. The King's lips kiss a trail along his cheek, his hands wandering down from his neck to his chest, and he squirms when he feels fingers tweak his nipples, gasps again with another thrust of the Queen. He's caught thoroughly between the two, and every movement he makes to escape the attentions of one of them only leads him into the clutches of the other. 

He hears a purr from the Queen, a sign of his pleasure with the Consort, and it's followed by a hand wrapping around his cock. The Consort's hips jerk involuntarily at the contact. The Queen chuckles at him, making his face feel hot. His fingers glide along the Consort's length as he coaxes him into hardness with the same intimacy as he'd propped his feet on the bed, massaged his thighs, fingered his ass. The Consort whimpers and feels tears springing into his eyes, burning behind his eyelids. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter against the sensation, feels his nose scrunching up into an ugly sneer. He doesn't care that if his King wasn't busy nibbling on his ear lobe he would be ordering the Consort to watch the Queen jerk him off to spite him. 

The King growls in his ear, a low rumble that makes him shiver. He forces his face back into a neutral expression, ignores the tears that roll down his temples as he does. The Queen's hand is still stroking him, up and down in time with the rocking of his hips, and when he feels a puff of hot breath in his ear he lets loose a long moan. He feels a pinch to his nipple again and pushes his hips back in time to meet his Queen's snapping forward, stars bursting behind his eyelids.

"Please...!" He cries out. His Queen squeezes his cock and he bucks his hips up, making the Queen's next thrust into him hit at a different angle that sends a wave of pleasure racing through him. "Hah—!"

"Please _what,_ Consort?" The King growls into his ear, eliciting another shiver from his Consort. He continues to roll the Consort's nipples between his fingers, teeth worrying his earlobe as the Queen fucks him, teases him, leaving him in a cacophony of sensation that's almost too difficult to swim through.

"Please—My King—May I come— _Please—!"_ The Consort gasps. He knows it's a risk to ask, knows his King might make him wait that much longer for making such an insolent request. He desperately wants his Queen to remove his hand from his cock. It feels good. He doesn't want it to.

His earlobe is released, the fingers on his chest stilling as his King hums thoughtfully, dangerously. "I don't know, my Queen. May he?"

The Queen's hand slows its movement, pulling him away from the edge, and he hums in an echo of the King's. The Consort's heart pounds. His mouth moves without his permission, a desperate _please_ slipping out before he can stop himself, and the Queen laughs. His hand picks up its pace again, and the Consort ruts up into it without any thought for rhythm. "He's being such a good pet for us. He deserves a treat, don't you think?"

"You're spoiling the poor mutt," the King says, hands picking up where they left off kneading at his chest despite his words. The Consort squirms and whines in response. 

"I can't help myself," the Queen says. "Just look at him, my King."

The Consort feels his King shifting behind him, feels his hands slide up his chest to grip his chin, jerking his head back with enough force that he gasps, snaps his eyes open to blink at him. The King is staring at him assessingly, like he's nothing more than breeding stock, and he moans miserably at the thought. His King and Queen had often threatened to have the Queen fill him a clutch, but not often enough that it had lost its effectiveness. As the Queen continues to pound into him, a realization begins to dawn.

"He looks like a common whore," the King says, thumbing away the tears at the corners of his eyes. The Consort whimpers at the insult.

"Common whore!" the Queen exclaims. "He's an angel, and you know it."

"He's a slut," the King argues. "desperate to be bred by you, my Queen. Hardly an angel at all."

It's the final straw for him, hearing his King confirm his fears, and with a cry and a jerk of his hips, he comes into the Queen's hand, across his belly in a rush of heat and pleasure. The King scoffs. "You see? Just hearing about how you're going to fill him with our heirs was enough to be his undoing."

The Consort feels his head being propped up and blinks until his eyes focus on the Queen, still fucking into him rhythmically, the little jolts of pleasure following each thrust. He watches the Queen bring his soiled hand up to his mouth, watches him lick the Consort's spend from between his fingers with a satisfied _mmm_. The Consort struggles to look away. He doesn't want to see that. He certainly doesn't want to see himself being filled with the Queen's clutch. Mercifully, the King releases him, lets him drop his head back into his lap, and the Consort whimpers his gratitude. 

With uncharacteristic care, he feels the King wipe more tears away from his eyes. The Queen thrusts deep into him, and he feels more well to the surface, his vision blurring until he closes his eyes entirely. The King's fingers comb through his hair, and he focuses on the feeling of that, rather than the feeling of the Queen inside him. 

"You're going to look good, Consort," the King says. "when your belly is swollen with our heirs. Almost like the angel the Queen claims you to be."

The Consort pictures it, his belly rounded with eggs, full and heavy. He wonders if the King will still make him sleep in his cage, while he's heavy with his children. Surely he wouldn't. Surely he would let his Consort sleep on a cozy pillow beside the bed where he can stretch out comfortably. Maybe even on the bed in between his King and Queen, each with a hand resting protectively on his belly. He blushes at the thought, then gasps when the Queen once more hits deep inside of him and makes his nerves jolt with pleasure.

"Perhaps we'll have to keep you like that, full and helpless," the King continues. "You're already such a helpless little thing. At least this way you wouldn't be useless as well."

This time the Consort moans at the image of himself, stomach perpetually round and full, carrying the weight, the reminder of who he belonged to and what his purpose was, everywhere with him. He clenches tight around the Queen, and he moans in turn. He begins fucking into the Consort at an irregular rhythm and the Consort knows the Queen must be getting close. He knows soon the things he's imagining will become reality. 

"Do you like that idea, Consort?" the King asks, and the Consort doesn't need to see his face to know he wears that cruel smirk of his. The Consort knows there's only one acceptable answer. He hates that it's starting to feel like a truthful one. He whines. He nods.

"Speak up, Consort. Answer me. Do you like that idea, or not?"

"Yes, my King," he gasps, and the Queen groans at his confession, stilling inside him as he fills the Consort with his seed, preparing his body for the eggs it will incubate. 

He already feels the first egg pushing against his entrance, so much wider than his Queen's length is. He wonders if it will even fit inside of him. It keeps pushing, and he feels like he's going to be split in half. He whimpers, squirms and tries to pull away, but the Queen grabs his hips, the King his shoulders, and he stills his movement instinctively. Quiet little whines in the back of his throat are the last signs of his displeasure.

"Hush now, Consort," the King says, and even his sounds die away with the command. He thinks the egg is nearly at its widest point, and he'd scream and cry as it tears him in two, if only he could. Finally the egg pops all the way in, and the burning dulls away, is replaced by the sudden feeling of fullness in his gut as the egg is deposited into him. There's another at his entrance, as big as the last one, but it doesn't hurt as much as the first as it pushes into him. He feels a third and gapes silently. He's already so full. How many more were there?

A fourth is dropped into him alongside the first three, stretching his belly and bloating him beyond belief. He feels another. He feels tears in his eyes, and wishes he could cry aloud as they wet his cheeks. The fifth egg slips into him with ease, dropping in beside the others, and he swears he's about to burst. The Queen's grip on him loosens and he feels his softening cock pulling out. He sighs in relief, just a touch of his painful fullness easing without his Queen's girth filling him too. 

One of the King's hands finds its way to the back of his head again, cupping it gently and lifting him up. Evil X opens his eyes without being told, and is greeted by the rounded, pregnant belly his King and Queen promised their Consort. His skin is pulled tight over the eggs within him, and he's a bit lumpy, the shape of the eggs nearly defined even through his flesh. He's not as big as he expected, but he knows that even still, he won't be able to hide it from the castle’s staff and its guests. Everyone who looks upon him will know how he's been used, how he's been claimed. They'll know whose heirs he's carrying.

"My lovely, perfect Prince," the Queen says dreamily, and leans down to press a kiss to Evil X's stomach. The eggs inside of him shift.


End file.
